Being Good

My unnaturally promiscuous lifestyle has started to nag at me lately, and I’m going to the women’s clinic for a checkup this Monday. Since the last time I went, I’ve only ever had very safe sex and been sleeping with people I know who are safe themselves. But nonetheless, it still nags the fuck out of me, and I must do it to get a bloody peace of mind. It’s that stupid newspaper article in Today: Tanjung Pinang, Where the Boys Go.

In some strange proceeding of circumstances, the guy I met on the train on the way to KL has emailed me and offered me a pair of tickets to somewhere in Asia. Of course with an offer like that, you’d suspect some other motive, and as things proceeded and as I continued IM-ing him, my idiot proof suspicion came to light. Inclusive of this time, I have been asked how much a night with me would cost, a grand total of 5 times. I don’t fancy the idea of sleeping for money, unless it’s a lot and a lot of money, and I wouldn’t do it just to up the bank balance in my account either. I hate sleeping with someone and feeling really violently the next day that I really should not have. In the grand total of one time this has happened (nearly a year past), I can safely say I completely regret it still, and it can possibly be the only time I have ever regretted sleeping with an individual.

I always quote an absolutely outrageous price each time, and it ranges anything from $1200 to $5000 a night. Yank told me he felt the price was steep, and I said that’s what I believe one night with me is worth, and what I would need, before I would even consider getting intimate with him in any possible way. Of course all of them decided not to after I cite what I needed. And my point is, look, if you want only to get laid, go to Orchard Towers or Pat-pong or something, girls are something like 30 to 90 percent cheaper, you can have their way with them, and they are not opinionated. You don’t need an opinion when you’re having sex, and they don’t say things like, ‘by taking so damn long to come, you’re really not pleasing me- just making me extremely sore.’ (Of course if I were paid that much for sex, it’d keep my mouth shut. But there are other ways to make him hurry up *laughs*) These girls… they’re used to getting abused. There’s absolutely no point in paying for a plane ticket down, paying all that money, and trying to ‘get your money’s worth’ out of it by fuck-busing me. Sure, I am absolutely confident about my caliber between the sheets. I’ve always gotten rave reviews, and it’s one of the silly reasons why Ethan is still completely into me. But the sex really isn’t the point. It’s part of it, but not all of it.

There is an inherent irony in the situation. Because sex is so easy, and so cheap to get in Asia, if all you want is a girl to abuse, you can get it for oh, four hours of work in the office or something. Especially if you’re on an expat salary. In fact, what the hell. If you’re a heartless bastard, all you have to do is go to a club and find a girl to lay by pretending you’re going to be around in the country for a few more years and will take care of her and buy her an apartment. In fact, you don’t even have to pretend all that. A great many Asian pussies (in Asia) are willing for all men, as long as they aren’t Asian. (Yes, I am actually making fun of myself.) You can argue that, maybe, it’s because we’ve been underprivileged for a great many years dating the guys we have had to.

As a digression, has it ever occurred to you that the western ideal of the perfect stiefmeister (alluding to American Pie) might actually be a case of the world trying to even it’s populations out? I mean, if a huge part of the world’s population today is made out of every other race except those of Caucasian progeny, and women tend to want to fuck the same sort of guys, and being white is nearly a pre-requisite to fall into this category, then in a few centuries, the balance would be brought back.

So as I was saying, if I ever do have sex for money, I am nearly sure I won’t be abused, because it’s just cheaper and easier to do likewise elsewhere. And it is ironic, because paid for sex in Asia is just so dangerous on so many counts, for the girls that have no choice. But like they say, nothing is ever really safe. Regardless of whether I do it because I want extra cash to splurge on a holiday in Europe or because I need it to buy the next bowl of mee-pok.

But then again, nothing is ever safe. In this world, you can only ever do things to reduce your risks. So what if you’re going to be in a loving marriage. Oh Bullshit. Didn’t you know, you’re husband-to-be goes to Tanjung Pinang to screw wanton Polynesian girls. At least I’m sure when I do marry, I’ll give him not one whit of a reason to lie to me, and even less reason to sleep with prostitutes. What for, when you’re girlfriend’s brining back her friends anyway. What a pleasantly plausible way to risk-reduction.

People are way to hell bent on aggressive strategies. The way to fight terrorism is not to attack a singular state, or embargo obscure African nations. The way to do it is to make it not worth it for the terrorists to attack. To reduce the ratio of damage to cost. It’s the same thing with just about everything else. From German soccer, and on to sex. You don’t tell people not to have sex and wreck them with guilt and fear. All strategies based on fear eventually do no good to mankind, it is, after all, absolutely unhealthy.

And I definitely feel extremely frustrated right now and like I need to throw myself off a mountain.

Let’s not even talk about Mike. He’s nice, and there’s nothing what so ever that’s wrong with him, but I just really don’t want to be with someone new. I feel nothing for him and want nothing from him. Fuckity fuckity fuck. I am WAY to annoyed at myself and my own flippancy with relationships. Sometimes I think I use Ethan too much as an excuse. I always tell myself everything will be allright when I get to meet him again. I will stop wanting to sleep with other people. Perhaps I won’t (sleep with new people), but how about the ones that I’ve been seeing for so long, and really, completely like? And Martine? That IS a mess. Because I still do want to see him.

Apparently he called me to ask for my bank account number. Remember the play which I watched with the G-Spot eventually? He presumed I had already paid for the tickets and asked me if $200 was able to cover it, because that was the price he’d seen on the postcards advertisements. I had just spent quite a great deal of money on this year’s Halloween outfit and a dress that looks like a Gucci rip-off, but is completely beautiful. So I didn't tell him that my dad had already paid for them.

The dress and shoes are absolutely amazing. I have been looking for a complicated lace dress just like so; and cannot believe I managed to actually get it at one of the most conventional retail places ever. It is so Death; Dream’s sister for Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series.




Well, at least I got $200 for sleeping with Martine, and causing a lot of unnecessary evils along the way as well. Heh.

xoxox